


The Nightmares of Sherlock Holmes

by merelysherlocked



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Aftermath of a Case, Angst with a Happy Ending, Case Fic, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-15
Updated: 2015-01-24
Packaged: 2018-03-01 15:33:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2778353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merelysherlocked/pseuds/merelysherlocked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes always knew that John got nightmares, but he never really brought it up because he knew that John didn't like to talk about it. But, Sherlock did understand what John went through because Sherlock got nightmares, too. Sherlock thought that they were getting better until something during a case goes wrong. One of them ends up in the hospital, and the nightmares get worse. Will the nightmares ever get better? And if they do, how will they?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Sherlock stared at John, his gaze unwavering from the Army doctor. The doctor was standing a few feet away from him, his usually soft eyes distant, cold. Sherlock had only seen this expression on John a few times, and he hated seeing it. 

The only time Sherlock got to see the expression was when he did something bad. Or something a bit not good, as John liked to say.   But this time, he couldn’t exactly figure out what he did wrong. He thought by withholding the truth, he was protecting John. Making his life easier. After all, John had enough to worry about. Why would he need to worry about this as well?  


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The actual story begins!

Sherlock stood in front of the Baker Street window, playing his violin. A soft melody filled the room, blocking out most of the loud chirps from the birds that had decided to perch themselves on the window sill on the other side of the glass. Sherlock smirked as one seemed to sway along with the music. Of course, he doubted that the bird was actually dancing to the music, but it made him feel like he had an audience.   In another life, Sherlock liked to think that he would have become a professional violinist. He supposed that he still could become one, but he had dedicated his life to his work, which violin-playing did not include. Well. The violin-playing helped him solve cases, but he didn’t consider it “work”.   

The sun just began to peak over the buildings on the other side of Baker Street, casting pink and orange streaks across the sky. Sherlock watched the colors spread across the sky as he played, imagining that the colors of the sky resembled the notes he was playing. He realized that this wasn’t a rational thought, but he didn’t care at the moment. All that mattered to him right now was the music, and how it seemed to calm his always racing mind.   His mind has been overactive for as long as he could remember, but recently, it had been growing worse. Much, much, worse. He didn’t think that it was possible, but evidently it was. He tried to store certain thoughts away into a back room of his mind palace, but those thoughts never seemed to stay there. Eventually, they always broke out and ran to the foyer of his palace.   He let out a sigh and forced his eyes closed. A very sharp note vibrated throughout the room. Sherlock winced at the sound but kept playing. Playing seemed to keep his thoughts at bay.   

“Rough night?” A voice asked, breaking the melody.

  Sherlock’s hand froze and he turned around. His roommate, John Watson, crossed the room to go into the kitchen. Sherlock let out a soft breath.

  “Mind is just a bit busy,” Sherlock mumbled.

  He put his violin down and went into the kitchen, hoping that John would make him some tea. John glanced over his shoulder and shook his head, but he smiled a little.

  “You do realize that you could make tea yourself, correct? Instead of playing that violin at all times of the day.”  

Sherlock took a step back, wincing. Yes, that was true. Sherlock was perfectly capable of making himself some tea, but the thing was was that he much preferred for John to make his tea. Besides, sometimes he was in such a state that he didn’t even think about making tea or eating. Sometimes he just needed to calm down or make his mind stop racing. When he woke up, all he knew was that he needed to play his violin.   

“But we both know that you make better tea than me, John. So it wouldn’t make sense for me to make it,” Sherlock said, forcing a small smile.   

John stared at Sherlock for a moment before turning to the stove to put the kettle on. He yawned and ran a hand down his face.

  “Did you sleep at all? It’s only seven.”   Sherlock sighed and shook his head.   “You need to sleep, Sherlock. You can’t just not sleep. That’s bad for your health.”   

Sherlock waved his hand, mumbling something about how his body was simply transport. He walked out of the room and back into the sitting room, where his violin waited. John failed to understand that Sherlock didn’t sleep not because he didn’t want to sleep — well, he did want to sleep sometimes — but because his mind couldn’t seem to stop buzzing every time he tried to lay down to sleep.   

Another melody filled the flat. This time, the melody was darker, but not as dark as some of the other ones that he tended to play sometimes. John stayed in the kitchen and rummaged through the cupboards, probably trying to find something decent to eat, which was difficult seeing as Sherlock never went grocery shopping. He figured that John enjoyed grocery shopping, so he let him do it. Also, he just couldn’t be bothered to go. Having to deal with people willingly in that type of environment was not something that he wanted.   

“You know, we really need to go grocery shopping,” John said a few minutes later.

He put Sherlock’s mug on the table next to the detective.   Sherlock mumbled something about being busy with cases, so he couldn’t.   

“Sherlock, you’ve got nothing on at the moment! That’s why you’ve been locked up in here for two days. You don’t think that there is anything else to do in London besides solving cases.”   

Even though his words may have seemed harsh, John said them in a way that wasn’t. Sherlock was repeatedly surprised by the doctor’s ability to word things in a way that actually made sense to him. Before John, Sherlock just refused to listen to anyone. He always figured that they were wrong and that he was right. Well, he still liked to believe that he was right ninety-nine percent of the time, but now he tended to listen to John.   Sherlock set his violin down and picked up his steaming mug.   

“You know that I have an aversion to grocery stores, John.”  

John sighed a bit and ran a hand through his hair.   “I know. Sorry for bringing it up.”

  With that, John walked over to the couch and sat down. He pulled out the newspaper and flipped through it slowly, his gaze slowly taking in each page. Sherlock stared at him, frowning. While he thought that grocery shopping was dull, he thought that he should at least be able to go with John. After all, he was his friend, so maybe going with him would be fun. John seemed to have the ability to make even the most dull things seem somewhat entertaining.

  “Why are you staring at me like that?” John asked, without looking up.   

After living with each other for quite a bit of time, John and Sherlock had established the ability to figure out what the other person was thinking (well, Sherlock could always tell what John was thinking but John didn’t always know what Sherlock was thinking. Most of the time John just waited in the dark until Sherlock decided to tell him what he was thinking) and whether or not the other was looking at them in a particular way.   Sherlock blinked; his gaze flicked to his mug.   

“No reason. Sorry.”   He walked over to his black chair and perched himself up on the top of it, allowing his feet to rest in the middle of the cushion. He ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it.

John grunted a bit when he came across an article about them.   

“They’re talking about how we’re still living with each other. Can’t they get over that?” John asked.

He took a sip of his tea.   Sherlock glanced at the man sitting diagonal from him.   

“Two middle aged men are sharing a flat, John. They solve cases together. Do you understand how that looks to the public?” He began. He gestured to the newspaper. “Besides, those reporters have nothing else interesting to say so they decided to talk about us instead.”  

“Yes, but couldn’t they not insinuate what they are insinuating?”

  Would that be such a bad thing? The thought raced across Sherlock’s mind before he could stop it. It wasn’t that he wanted that with John— at least he thought that he didn’t — but even if he did, it wasn’t like anything would happen anyways. John on numerous occasions had made his stance quite clear. He wasn’t interested in him in that way. Nor would he ever be, it seemed.   Not that it really mattered. Sherlock always considered himself married to his work, and he didn’t think that he would be able to make an exception. If he and John ever went down that path, he would simply distract Sherlock. He would make him think about him instead of thinking about cases, and instead of going out and solving cases, he’d probably want to spend the night out with John instead.   But, then again, he wished that John didn’t have such an… anger towards the reporters who talk about their relationship. He didn’t understand why it was so “bad” that they talked about them. Or insinuated that their relationship may be more that meets the eye. And it wasn’t like what the reporters were doing was unique. Reporters somehow seemed to talk about anyone of importance’s relationship status.   Sherlock never really cared about what celebrity was dating who until he met John.

Before John, he just marked that information off as unimportant and moved on. But, now, he found that part of him did actually care about what certain celebrities were doing. Not that he’d ever admit that. John would be much too pleased with himself if he found out that he had got Sherlock interested in crap telly and some celebrities.   

“They’re reporters, John,” Sherlock finally says, letting out a slow breath. “They’re meant to talk about what they talk about. Now they might not do it in a way that you approve of, but they are simply doing their job.”

  John looked ready to protest, but he seemed to deflate after a moment. He closed the newspaper and ran a hand through his short, dirty blonde, hair.

  “Yes, I’m just tired of them…” He gestured to the newspaper stack in front of him. “…insinuating that I never have any girlfriends.”  

Sherlock sighed. Not this again. If this wasn’t true, he’d understand why John would be upset. But the reporters were correct. Ever since their Baskerville case, John hadn’t dated. He hadn’t even tried to date anyone. It was odd. John always seemed to be pursuing someone, but ever since then, he seemed to back off of the whole dating thing.   Sherlock thought that after the Fall that John would… His throat closed up. He forced those thoughts out of his head. No. That time had passed. It was over. It didn’t matter anymore. What mattered was the fact that essentially nothing had changed. Well. That’s what he liked to tell himself, anyways.

  “John, you haven’t had any girlfriends. Surely you realize this.”   The consulting detective stared down at him as he took a sip of his still steaming cup of tea. John sighed and tossed some of the newspapers on the end table at the end of the couch.   

“Thanks for reminding me about that. Are you keeping track of the days, too?” Sherlock opened his mouth, but John cut him off before he could reply. “Never mind. Don’t answer that. I don’t want to know.” He took another large sip of his tea. He stretched a bit. “I’m going to go grocery shopping today. I think that you should join me.”   

Didn’t they just go over this? Or was John not paying attention?

  “Don’t look at me like that. I know that you told me that you didn’t want to go, but you never go with me.”

  Sherlock sighed; did John just refuse to understand that shopping was not an event that he labelled as “fun”? John continued to look at Sherlock, his gaze set on his. He puffed out his chest a little bit, that thing that he did when he was trying to get Sherlock to do what he wanted.   

“Fine! I’ll go with you.” But if I’m miserable to be around don’t blame me, he added silently. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading this chapter! I hope that you enjoyed it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story continues!!

This was why Sherlock hated shopping. Whenever he went shopping, people surrounded him, barely giving him any space to move. And while they weren’t talking to him, or really paying any attention to him, he still couldn’t help but feel a bit annoyed. It seemed like the whole “personal space” concept went out the window.   He didn’t understand why it would go out the window, but he didn’t want to think about that. All he wanted to do was go home and play his violin. Maybe he would even text Lestrade and ask him if any cases sprouted up. He hadn’t had a case in a while and it was starting to make him restless. It’s not like all the criminals of London could’ve just gotten up and left.   

“Don’t look so depressed,” John said, walking past Sherlock to look at some fruit that Sherlock didn’t recognize.

  “I want to go home," Sherlock said softly, pouting.

“Sherlock, we just got here and I still haven’t got to the main part of my shopping list.”

  Sherlock let out a loud sigh and leaned against one of the displays that was holding pineapple.   

“Could you hurry up, then? I think that I have an experiment waiting at home that requires my attention.”  

Now, that was a lie, and John probably could tell it was a lie, but that hadn’t stopped Sherlock from lying. He actually did have a few experiments going on at the moment, but he was in the finishing stages of them, meaning he really didn’t need to check up on any of them. Not now, anyways. Sherlock figured that he wouldn’t have to check on them for another day or two. And since Sherlock had the tendency to tell John everything, even when he didn’t feel like John was listening, John knew this fact, too.   

“No, you don’t.” John tossed some bananas and a fruit that Sherlock didn’t recognize into the trolley. “Now, is there any food that you want to get?”     
  
Sherlock shook his head. Food was dull. Boring. And, if he waltzed around the store trying to find the food that he may like, they would be there even longer, and all Sherlock wanted was to just call it a day and go home.

  “Sherlock, don’t act like this. You haven’t eaten very much lately, and you don’t even have a case so you don’t have an excuse for not eating.”

  Did they really have to talk about this? Sherlock glanced at John, his gaze hard, before walking the other direction, towards the bakery of the store. John tried to follow him, but Sherlock walked much too quickly for the doctor. Even though people weren’t walking fast, they walked quickly enough to block John from Sherlock.   Sherlock walked as quickly as he could to a different section of the store, not stopping until he was sure that he was away from the army doctor. He knew that he could simply leave the grocery store, but he didn’t want his flatmate to worry. All he really wanted was to take a deep breath and get away from the more populated spots of the store. Here, there wasn’t like anyone around, so he could finally breathe.

He glanced around the area, searching for anything that could potentially pique his interest while he waited for John to come and collect him. After a few seconds of just looking around, his gaze found a stand full of sweets. Of sweets that he longed to buy; these were the type of sweets that his mother used to get for him during the holidays because they were more expensive than other kinds. He walked over to them, his eyes slightly wider than normal.   His gaze raked over the shelves, glancing at each and every kind. Now, if John gave him these every night, he’d eat them happily. But, he doubted that John would let him eat chocolate for every meal. He did know that chocolate had some benefits, but not enough that would convince him to let him eat it. A grin formed on his face when he saw a large bag of chocolate-covered pretzels, one of his favorite snacks. Or foods.

When he was younger, sometimes he and his mum would spend a weekend morning making these chocolate treats. His mum never let him eat all of them at once, but she would make sure that only he was eating them. Even as a child, Sherlock hadn’t eaten much, so his mum was always trying to find ways to get food into him.

  “There you are,” a voice said, pulling Sherlock out of his little daydream.

He blinked and looked over his shoulder, where the voice was coming from.   

“Sorry,” he mumbled.   

“Why did you just take off like that?” John walked over to the consulting detective.

  “Because there were too many people present. I wanted some…air.”

  John’s eyebrow quirked upwards. “So you got air in the candy aisle?”

  It wasn’t like he was trying to find this aisle. He really wasn’t. He simply walked until he felt like he had reached a part of the store that wasn't nearly as crowded as some other parts.

  “I just ended up here.”

  John stared at him for a moment before nodding. He glanced at the neatly wrapped sweets behind Sherlock.   “Did you want any of that stuff?” He gestured to the sweets. Sherlock’s eyes widened. “What, did I say something wrong?”  

Sherlock shook his head. “Not at all. I just…well, I didn’t think that you’d ask.”

  “Why not?”   

Sherlock shrugged. He grabbed a few packages of the chocolate that he wanted and tossed it into the trolley. He probably put a bit too many packages in, but John didn’t say anything. He just smiled a little at him and gestured for him to follow him to another part of the store so he could finish shopping.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Here's the next chapter.

The rest of their shopping trip went without incident. Sherlock followed John around silently, not saying one word about how slowly John was going or how he wanted to go home. Maybe since the army doctor had decided to get him a bunch of candy, Sherlock decided that it was best to not complain to him about being stuck in the store. Sherlock knew that he could be quite rude sometimes (He wasn’t an idiot), so he decided to spare John for once.   Luckily for Sherlock though, John hadn’t needed to buy much more after Sherlock had decided that he wanted sweets. It seemed like they were in the store for a long time, but John had actually bought less than he had thought that he would.   

“Can I have tea?” Sherlock asked as he and John climbed the steps to their flat.   John was behind him, carrying a bunch of bags, grunting a bit with every step that he took. Sherlock, on the other hand, wasn’t carrying a single thing, save for his goody bag. It wasn’t really a goody bag, but to Sherlock, it was.   

“Maybe after I put these groceries away, Sherlock. You do realize that you could’ve helped me carry in these bags, right? Instead of just taking your own?”

  Of course Sherlock realized that. Obviously he could’ve helped John out, but he didn’t. Well, it's not that he hadn't wanted to, he had just been to lazy to. Plus, he hadn’t wanted his bag of sweets to get stuck in the cab. 

  “I did take a bag,” Sherlock said defensively. 

  He entered the flat and walked over to his chair. There, he deposited his bag next to his seat, on the end table. John made his way to the kitchen and plopped the bags on the kitchen counter. He glanced over at Sherlock. 

  “No, you can’t do that, Sherlock. You can’t have all your food over there.” 

  Sherlock’s gaze flicked to the candy. A small frown pulled at the corners of his mouth. Why couldn’t he have all the candy over here? It wasn’t as if he was going to eat all the candy at once. As much as he liked sweets, he did have some self-restraint. Didn’t John realize that? He huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. 

  “I wasn’t planning on eating all of the food at once, John. I simply put it on the table so I could eat some when I was hungry.” 

  John walked to the entrance of the kitchen and leaned against it.   

“How about you give me half of the candy?” John asked.   Sherlock glanced down at the wonderful stash of candy that was next to him. He bit his lip gently. 

  “Fine. You can have some. But I don’t expect you to eat any of it.” 

  John chuckled a bit. “I wasn’t planning on eating any.” 

  He crossed the room and scooped half of the candy into a bag. Sherlock watched him, frowning, not approving of his actions in the slightest. After all, that was his candy. Didn’t he think that he had any self-control? Sherlock had spent his whole life trying to discipline himself, to keep himself in check. That’s the only way he was like the way that he was. If he simply gave into every thought that he had, well. He wouldn’t be the same person.   John left about a quarter of the candy left for Sherlock. He had stopped when he took half of it, but then he seemed to think that it would be better if he took most of it. 

Sherlock grunted.   “John, I am not a child,” Sherlock muttered, huffing. 

  The army doctor tied the bag off. 

  “I know that you’re not, but that doesn’t mean that you won’t eat all of this in one sitting. And that would spoil your dinner.”  

Yes. He felt like he was back living with his parents and brother. When he was younger, they would always tell him what to do, what not to do. The only time when they seemed to stop pestering him as much was when he lost his dog, but that wasn’t exactly a time that he liked to think about. Sherlock swallowed and went over to his violin. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth, as if it had swelled to be twice the size that it once was.   He thought that he would get better about that whole event as time progressed, but he was wrong. 

Well, of course that incident didn’t hurt as much as it once did, but it still wasn’t exactly a thing that he liked to talk about. He perched his violin in between his neck and his chin, and began playing.   A soft melody bounced gently off the walls. John frowned a bit at Sherlock’s back, but didn’t say anything about Sherlock’s sudden mood swing. Instead, he walked into the kitchen, figuring that he would prepare some tea and put away the rest of the groceries. 

 

 

     “Sherlock, dinner is ready,” a voice said a bit later, pulling Sherlock out of his thoughts.   

He wasn’t sure how long he had been playing for, but it seemed like he had only begun playing a few minutes ago. He frowned and put his bow down.   

“It’s time for dinner already?” Sherlock asked. 

He turned around to face John, who was looking at Sherlock with an expression that Sherlock didn’t like.   It was one of those expressions that made Sherlock feel like he had done something wrong, even though he knew that he couldn’t have. All he had been doing was playing his violin, but something about the army doctor’s expression made him feel like he did something worse. 

  “Yes, you were playing for quite a while,” John said softly. “Anyways, I made some soup.”

  Sherlock made a face. Soup was not a meal that he liked. Didn’t John know this by now?   

“That’s okay,” he replied. He started to play the violin again and turned away from John, hoping that his actions would delineate exactly how he felt on the matter.   John, of course, got what Sherlock was trying to say once he heard some low notes fill the room once again. A frown crossed his face.   

“Did you not want soup? You know that I made this soup from scratch, right?”   Sherlock’s bow stopped midway on his violin. He shrugged, dramatically, before resuming the tune.   “Come on, Sherlock. I’ll let you have some candy after if you eat some.” 

  Did he really think that that would persuade Sherlock into eating the soup? Didn’t John understand that he just wanted the candy and not any of the soup?   

“Sherlock, you have to eat,” John said again, this time his voice softer. Sighing, John shook his head and went back into the kitchen while Sherlock continued to play his violin.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Here is the next chapter!!!!

About a half an hour later, Sherlock was still in the kitchen, perusing the newspaper. Normally he didn’t like to spend this much time reading it, but today’s articles seemed much better than normal. The place must’ve finally hired some competent people. People that understood what their readers wanted. Sherlock turned the page and started to read a section about new restaurants that had opened in London while John paced around the sitting room, grunting to himself about something. 

Sherlock sighed and glanced over his shoulder, into the room next to him. John had been huffing and puffing to himself for the last ten minutes, and Sherlock had no idea why. He could’ve deduced it a few minutes ago, but the article that he had been reading was much more important. And, John didn’t like it when Sherlock randomly deduced things about his mood. For some reason, he tended to get annoyed. He didn’t understand why. 

  “Is everything okay?” Sherlock asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “No, everything is not okay!” John said, tossing a pillow back onto his chair. 

  Sherlock narrowed his eyes. He scanned John’s body quickly. His shoulders were tense. The frown lines on his forehead were more pronounced. Every so often he would run his hands through his hair.

Sherlock smirked.   “You lost your phone,” Sherlock deduced. 

  John stopped what he was doing and glanced up at the consulting detective who was looking rather proud of himself. He pursed his lips. 

  “I simply misplaced it.” 

  Sherlock put the newspaper he was reading back on the table before standing up. He crossed over to the entrance of the kitchen and leaned against the door frame.   “You do realize that misplace is often a synonym for lost, John,” Sherlock said. His smirk grew. 

  “I did not misplace it!”   

John stormed over to Sherlock’s seat and started to dig his hands into the sides of it. Apparently he thought that somehow, even though John never sat in Sherlock’s seat, his phone had magically got itself caught in the cushion.   

“John, you know that your phone isn’t there. So it is really quite pointless to engage in a search there.” 

  The army doctor’s head shot up.   “What do you propose that I do then? Just get a new phone? Let my old one just…disappear?”   

Sherlock chuckled. Oh, John. Sometimes the army doctor truly amused the consulting detective.   

“No, that was not what I was suggesting. Think, John. What could I possibly be suggesting?” he asked, tilting his head to the side, his gaze still locked on John. 

  John bit his lip under Sherlock’s gaze and glanced around the sitting room. He saw Sherlock’s phone laying on the end table next to his chair. Something seemed to click in his mind because his body relaxed a bit and he looked up at Sherlock with a slightly less frustrated expression.   

“You could call me, yeah? And then we could try to find it that way.”  

Sherlock smiled; he had known John would get there eventually. He pushed himself off of the doorframe and walked over to his phone. He quickly dialed John’s number and waited for his phone to go off. While Sherlock dialed, John walked around the room slowly, glancing around nervously, anxiously. Finally, a small sound seemed to erupt from the middle of the room, next to the set of windows. John raced over to the spot and pushed papers that cluttered one corner of the table to another. Below them was his silver phone.   John let out a breath and picked up his phone. 

  “See? I told you that you had nothing to worry about. Now, call Lestrade.”   

Sherlock slid plugged his phone back in before crossing the room to sit down in his chair. John nodded and dialed Lestrade’s number, hoping that the detective inspector would have a case for them.


End file.
